Friday, March 22, 2013

sacoche

In St. Tropez. Look closely at the sagging object my husband is carrying. Meet Mr Sacks, Jean-Marc's lovable sidekick, in today's story column. Note: the pictures of Jean-Marc in this post span over a decade.

French Definition:Sorte de grosse bourse de cuir ordinairement retenue par une courroie et qui se porte au côté ou dans le dos. A kind of big leather purse usually held by a strap and worn on the side or on the back. --Wiktionnaire

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE... by Kristin Espinasse

Ode to Mr. Sacks

I couldn't believe my ears when Jean-Marc, packing for his business trip, mentioned: "I'm not taking my sacoche with me."

Vraiment? My husband might as well have decided to leave an appendage behind--son bras droit, for example, the one he uses to lift his wine glass. That is how vital his trusty, takes-with-him everywhere sacoche is to him.

What with increasing restrictions for carry-on and check-in, Jean-Marc's dear sidekick, Mr Sacks, is the latest victime of airline cutbacks!

Poor Mr Sacks! I've never felt sorry for the old bag before. Mostly, I've felt envious. Mr. Sacks is the one who goes on all the business trips with my husband. Mr. Sacks goes to all the local wine tastings while I sit at home guzzling tap water.

Mr Sacks in Paris... the one on the left. (Make no mistake, the other bags mean nothing to Jean-Marc!)

I do pity Mr. Sacks now that his saggy little body is pouting in the corner of my husband's office. This is the first time in his 12-year-old life that he's collected dust. Normally he's on the go....

Mr. Sacks in Sicily... can't you see him sniffing the pretty flowers?

Mr. Sacks cruising the island of Cres. Just kidding, Jean-Marc would never put Mr. Sacks in this predicament (water, not vacationing in Croatia). This brings me to the next point...

Regularly I am asked to hold on to Mr. Sacks while my husband sprints off to use a public restroom or when (as pictured above) he is practicing a sport. "Tu peux prendre ma sacoche?" He asks. And I always grumble, not wanting to hold the heavy "third wheel". Apart from tractor wrenches, he even keeps wine bottles (for his tastings) in there...

Mr Sacks (on the floor, next to the bucket spittoon)

Some refer to Mr Sacks as a "man purse". That always makes me snicker. Hahahahahaha! Man Bag!!! Sac Homme! I point at Mr. Sacks. But Mr. Sacks isn't laughing...

What do you think: man purse? Jean-Marc purchased it in une maroquinerie in Draguignan, years and years ago. It was love at first sight.

Jean-Marc's got that guilty look on his face. He's always holding hands with Mr. Sacks instead of with me--and he knows it! While others worry about the other woman, I have to worry about the old bag!

But old Mr. Sacks, as you can see, is beginning to sag. I worry that items inside him will begin to fly out of his slouching pockets. I especially worry that money will fall out. For this reason, I sometimes follow close in Jean-Marc's wake as he goes about his errands. I am stumbling along behind him swatting my arms back and forth prepared to catch those banknotes that might come flying out of that sagging bag.

Mr Sacks is coming apart at the seams, which just goes to show even sacks have middle-age crisis.

Over the years I've tried to get Jean-Marc to consider buying a new bag. Nothin' doin'! "But it's a hazard," I argue (a financial hazard at that! Just think if money really were flying out of that bag).

"I'm keeping my bag!" he always argues back.

A couple of weeks ago Jean-Marc announced with an ear-to-ear grin: Je l'ai fait réparer, mon sac. He had brought Mr. Sacks to the leather mender's, in town. The guy did a wonderful job, Jean-Marc told me, adding that the man was nearly 90 years old.

Any ill will or harsh feelings I may have felt regarding Mr. Sacks flew out of the picture (as those bank notes might have...). My heart smiled thinking of the wrinkled man sewing the wrinkled bag, one soul giving life back to the other, each content to be of service for as long as they were needed or wanted.

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sacoche

In St. Tropez. Look closely at the sagging object my husband is carrying. Meet Mr Sacks, Jean-Marc's lovable sidekick, in today's story column. Note: the pictures of Jean-Marc in this post span over a decade.

French Definition:Sorte de grosse bourse de cuir ordinairement retenue par une courroie et qui se porte au côté ou dans le dos. A kind of big leather purse usually held by a strap and worn on the side or on the back. --Wiktionnaire

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE... by Kristin Espinasse

Ode to Mr. Sacks

I couldn't believe my ears when Jean-Marc, packing for his business trip, mentioned: "I'm not taking my sacoche with me."

Vraiment? My husband might as well have decided to leave an appendage behind--son bras droit, for example, the one he uses to lift his wine glass. That is how vital his trusty, takes-with-him everywhere sacoche is to him.

What with increasing restrictions for carry-on and check-in, Jean-Marc's dear sidekick, Mr Sacks, is the latest victime of airline cutbacks!

Poor Mr Sacks! I've never felt sorry for the old bag before. Mostly, I've felt envious. Mr. Sacks is the one who goes on all the business trips with my husband. Mr. Sacks goes to all the local wine tastings while I sit at home guzzling tap water.

Mr Sacks in Paris... the one on the left. (Make no mistake, the other bags mean nothing to Jean-Marc!)

I do pity Mr. Sacks now that his saggy little body is pouting in the corner of my husband's office. This is the first time in his 12-year-old life that he's collected dust. Normally he's on the go....

Mr. Sacks in Sicily... can't you see him sniffing the pretty flowers?

Mr. Sacks cruising the island of Cres. Just kidding, Jean-Marc would never put Mr. Sacks in this predicament (water, not vacationing in Croatia). This brings me to the next point...

Regularly I am asked to hold on to Mr. Sacks while my husband sprints off to use a public restroom or when (as pictured above) he is practicing a sport. "Tu peux prendre ma sacoche?" He asks. And I always grumble, not wanting to hold the heavy "third wheel". Apart from tractor wrenches, he even keeps wine bottles (for his tastings) in there...

Mr Sacks (on the floor, next to the bucket spittoon)

Some refer to Mr Sacks as a "man purse". That always makes me snicker. Hahahahahaha! Man Bag!!! Sac Homme! I point at Mr. Sacks. But Mr. Sacks isn't laughing...

What do you think: man purse? Jean-Marc purchased it in une maroquinerie in Draguignan, years and years ago. It was love at first sight.

Jean-Marc's got that guilty look on his face. He's always holding hands with Mr. Sacks instead of with me--and he knows it! While others worry about the other woman, I have to worry about the old bag!

But old Mr. Sacks, as you can see, is beginning to sag. I worry that items inside him will begin to fly out of his slouching pockets. I especially worry that money will fall out. For this reason, I sometimes follow close in Jean-Marc's wake as he goes about his errands. I am stumbling along behind him swatting my arms back and forth prepared to catch those banknotes that might come flying out of that sagging bag.

Mr Sacks is coming apart at the seams, which just goes to show even sacks have middle-age crisis.

Over the years I've tried to get Jean-Marc to consider buying a new bag. Nothin' doin'! "But it's a hazard," I argue (a financial hazard at that! Just think if money really were flying out of that bag).

"I'm keeping my bag!" he always argues back.

A couple of weeks ago Jean-Marc announced with an ear-to-ear grin: Je l'ai fait réparer, mon sac. He had brought Mr. Sacks to the leather mender's, in town. The guy did a wonderful job, Jean-Marc told me, adding that the man was nearly 90 years old.

Any ill will or harsh feelings I may have felt regarding Mr. Sacks flew out of the picture (as those bank notes might have...). My heart smiled thinking of the wrinkled man sewing the wrinkled bag, one soul giving life back to the other, each content to be of service for as long as they were needed or wanted.